The Three Keys of Rosings
by FrancineRainey
Summary: After Elizabeth rejects Darcy's insulting proposal, he is devastated. Circumstances conspire to bring Elizabeth to Rosings estate, where she and Darcy are thrown together and where she receives three keys that unlock Darcy's character. But will the keys be sufficient to bring ODC together or will it be too late? And what will the keys reveal about Elizabeth? HEA for D/E.
1. Chapter 1

The Three Keys of Rosings

_You are the last man on earth I could ever be prevailed upon to marry! _

Darcy inhaled, staggered back from the window, and fell into the chair beside it. It had been hours since Elizabeth had said the words that had removed all the light from his world and set his heart and soul wandering, troubled and broken, like a vagabond, desperate for a home.

He picked his glass up from the side table. It was empty, again. So, as he did the last five times it had suffered that particular issue, he refilled it and knocked it back. Then he leaned forward with his elbows to his knees and bowed his head. The pain was agonizing, crushing, and relentless. How was he to live without her? How was he to live without that light, that sparkle, that impertinence, that smile…those eyes. How could the one woman who owned him, body and soul, care so little for what he offered? And to champion Wickham! Darcy's face twisted, and he threw the glass into the fire, shattering it and sparking the flame.

Darcy stalked to the window again and looked out at the waning light. He gazed at the sky, the trees, the roads, before inevitably returning to what he really desired to see, Hunsford Parsonage. She was there. Somewhere within those fortunate walls, she resided. Perhaps she was asleep, her face softened by slumber and her chest rising and falling slowly. Or maybe she was reading and biting her lower lip as she improved that beautiful, agile mind. Or perhaps she was weeping, or pacing, or doubled over in pain. Yes, that was it, doubled over in pain, regretting having rejected him, having thrown him away as if he were dung.

Darcy released the window frame he held as if it were a thousand hot, burning coals. He swiveled, breathing harshly, then he closed his eyes and dropped back into the chair. He would do anything for her, bring her the world and lay it as an offering at her feet. But he had nothing she wanted. Darcy blew out a harsh breath and ran his hand down his face. He reached for the glass that had been his companion the last few hours, but it had defected, too, shattered like his hopes and dreams. Darcy leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.

"Hateful man!" Elizabeth paced in her room. She had just returned from a walk where she had stomped down lesser traveled paths for more than an hour, muttering unladylike curses at the most insufferable man she had ever met. The temerity to tell her that he loved her against his better judgment! And to expect her to accept him, and expect it he had, for when she had refused, for just a moment, she thought she had never seen a more dejected countenance. Elizabeth stilled as the bleak look in his eyes arrested her senses. Then she shook her head, "No! I will not empathize after what he has done to perhaps the sweetest soul in all of England." Her indignation restored, Elizabeth's harsh breathing resumed. She repeated what she must have said a hundred times since his disastrous and insulting proposal, "What right did he have to judge another's feelings? And he, who had rarely spoken to Jane beyond a greeting, how dare he decide he knew her heart." Elizabeth hmphed and flopped upon the bed. Her bed in the Hunsford Parsonage was the most uncomfortable she had ever experienced. "Of course, the beds would be coarse, what would Lady Catherine care how her inferiors slept? She is just like her nephew. Look at what he did to Mr. Wickham, subjecting him to a life of penury for his jealous vindication."

Elizabeth rose from the offensive mattress as if her rejection of it could be felt by its purchaser and her arrogant nephew. At any rate, she was too upset to sleep and the bed too uncomfortable for reclining. She looked about the room, the only other chair was scarcely better; it looked as if it belonged somewhere in a medieval dungeon. Elizabeth chuckled at her exaggeration, grabbed a book from her table, and proceeded to the parlor that Charlotte kept for her own particular use.

As Elizabeth traveled down the corridor, she saw Charlotte exiting her husband's study. "No, dear, I must work on my sermon for Lady Catherine's approval," Elizabeth heard her cousin speak. "In her great condescension, Lady Catherine has charged me to arrive for breakfast tomorrow. She has told me that after last Sunday's sermon, she needed to see me even earlier this week! I believe she anticipates, with great excitement, my insights!" Mr. Collins sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers upon his chest while smiling like a schoolboy.

Charlotte covered her smile with her hand, then she cleared her throat and said, "I am sure she does, dearest. Well, I will not wait up for you, and since you shall breakfast with Lady Catherine, I shall wish you now an enjoyable morning."

Collins beamed. "Thank you, my dear. It is just as I imagined; we are of one mind! You recognize the condescension that Lady Catherine shows us, and you understand the respect that she is due. It is just as I imagined! Just as I imagined! Good night, my love, sleep well, but of course you will, Lady Catherine selected the mattresses herself, optimally chosen for the best sleep…"

"Yes, dear. Good night." Charlotte, who stood halfway into the corridor as she spoke to her husband, turned to Elizabeth who was waiting to pass.

"Oh, Lizzy! I did not notice you there."

"All is well, Charlotte."

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, "Truly, you are well, Lizzy?

Elizabeth smiled a quick close-lipped smile and spoke rapidly, "I am, Charlotte. I seek the use of your parlor. I would like to read a while if you do not mind."

Charlotte looked at Elizabeth for a while with her head tilted slightly, then she smiled, "Very well, Lizzy, keep your own counsel. I shall not badger you, and, of course, you may use the parlor," Charlotte whispered, "especially since the mattresses have been chosen for the best sleep, we cannot have you fall asleep before you have read one word!" Elizabeth and Charlotte giggled and parted ways.

Elizabeth settled onto the comfortable couch in Charlotte's parlor. As she began to read, the stress of the day, the long walk, the rancor she felt for Darcy – all took their toll, and before long, Elizabeth dozed.

In the meantime, in the study next door, Mr. Collins read his own sermon and fell asleep! He did so having forgotten to remove the candelabra from the place by the curtains that gave him the best light, but, about which his wife had warned him. The rector's head landed upon his desk with a slight thump, but not loud, nor hard enough to wake the snoring gentleman.

_She stood, her chestnut curls flowing and her emerald eyes sparkling. She smiled that impertinent smile and beckoned him with her finger. He felt as if his entire face smiled, his heart raced, and every cell in his body came alive. He tried to lift his legs to run to her, but they would not move. Darcy frowned and looked down; the valley fog that swirled around him had gripped him like tentacles. Darcy pulled his legs again, but they felt like cement. He looked up as Elizabeth's smile crumbled and confusion marred her lovely face. He tried harder to move, straining with everything in him, but he could not. Suddenly, Elizabeth's face twisted and she and was pulled by an unseen force. Darcy reached for her and screamed, the agonizing scream of loss and desperation that can only be purchased by misery. He watched as Elizabeth reached for him, her face twisted in agony. He leaned forward, his face distorted and his eyes bulging from the strain and was just able to touch the tips of his fingers to hers – then, she was yanked away, and Darcy fell to his knees. Seeing her no more, he lifted his head to the sky and screamed._

Darcy woke with a gasp; he was drenched in sweat, and his heart raced like a thoroughbred."Elizabeth," he whispered, then he lurched from his chair and stood at the window. His eyes were blurry from sleep, drink, and tears. He rubbed them and peered into the night. Then he gasped, his eyes as wide as a beaver's moon, and turned and raced away.

Hunsford Parsonage was on fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Interesting facts. It took approximately 17 minutes for a house to burn prior to 1940; today because of all the synthetic materials in use – it takes about four minutes. **

**Also, a crude form of CPR that included mouth-to-mouth existed as early as the 18****th**** century.**

**Now on to the story! I hope you enjoy it!**

Chapter Two

Charlotte jerked awake, breathing harshly as if she had just escaped from a nightmare. She rubbed her chest that felt tight with apprehension. The clock suggested that she had only been asleep for a little more than half an hour. Charlotte turned onto her side, seeking a comfortable position on the mattress optimally situated for the best sleep, but she could find none, nor could she rid herself of the feeling that something was amiss. She sat up and reviewed her nightly regiment of closing up the house. She lay back again with a creased brow, all seemed well; however, she could not shake the apprehension. Charlotte snuggled into her pillow, frowning. Suddenly, she gasped and bolted upright. The candelabra had been sat too close to the curtains again! She remembered she was just about to mention it to Mr. Collins when she noticed Lizzy in the corridor. Charlotte sprung from the bed and grabbed her robe, struggling into it as she scrambled for the door. As she opened the door, she stumbled backward. Smoke. She had no live-in servants, so Charlotte yelled, "Fire!" and flung open the door to her husband's chamber; it was empty. Then she ran to Elizabeth's room, yelling as she went; it was also empty.

Panting, her heart racing and sweat beading upon her forehead, Charlotte ran down the stairs screaming, "Mr. Collins! Lizzy! Fire! Get out! Get out!" The smoke became thicker now as she descended the stairs. It burned her eyes and throat. Charlotte coughed and fell down the last few stairs as the smoke impaired her vision. Breathing better on the ground, she crawled toward her husband's study.

_Oh, dear Lord, help me to reach them!_ She reached the study, stood up, flung open the door, and fell again – as thick, black smoke billowed from the door and escaped into the corridor. The sound of glass shattering rung in her ears. Charlotte stood again and briefly marveled at how hot the flames felt as she rose. She was enveloped in smoke so heavy she could scarce breathe and heat so hot that she felt as if she would soon burst into flames. She could not see her husband for the smoke, but she could see flames consuming the back wall. Charlotte stumbled in the direction of the desk and stubbed her toe against a chair, but she barely registered the pain.

"Mr. Collins!" she cried between coughs. "Mr. Collins! Fire! We must leave!" Charlotte reached out blindly searching for her husband. Her hand landed upon his shoulder, and she shook him. "Mr. Collins! Wake up! Wake up!" She coughed and shook harder. "WAKE! UP!" she screamed and shook him with all her might.

"Huh? Huh? What is…fire!" Collins yelled and then cough. He leapt from his chair and in his haste to leave, he did not fully clear the desk and thus fell into it. "Ow!" he screamed, then began crawling out of the hot, smoky room. Once in the corridor, Collins stood up and ran as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him.

Outside, he doubled over coughing. When he had recovered himself somewhat, he spoke, "Charlotte, I must attend to Lady Catherine! Oh, dear! My sermon is in the flames! She would have expected me to rescue it. Oh, she shall not be pleased," he bobbed back and forth in an odd little motion. Hearing no sympathetic response, Collins turned, "Charlotte? Charlotte?" he called.

The thundering staccato of horse's hooves invaded Collins' panic, and he whipped around just as Darcy leapt from Midnight. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Darcy ran. "Where are the ladies!" Collins stared glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. Darcy yelled again, "The ladies, where are _they?! _

Collins startled. "I, I do not know. Within, I think. Charlotte was behind me, but…" Darcy ran into the house.

Elizabeth woke with a gasp and stiffened, her eyes blinking rapidly as she transitioned from slumber to some level of wakefulness.

"Fire!" Elizabeth leapt up as she heard Charlotte's scream. However, still groggy from sleep, Elizabeth forgot that she was cocooned in her blankets, having wrapped herself snugly before she slept. In her panic, she attempted to run before freeing herself. Instead, Elizabeth fell. And with her arms also tangled in the blanket, she could not sufficiently break her fall. Elizabeth's head crashed onto the edge of the table, and the world went black.

As Darcy entered the house, the smoke immediately burned his eyes and impaired his sight. Darcy extended his arms and felt his way forward through the thick darkness. Suddenly, Darcy staggered a bit as a body fell into him and dropped. Darcy lifted the body and knew instinctively that it was not Elizabeth. Charlotte coughed and gasped, "Lizzy, Lizzy," she said weakly.

"Where is she?" Darcy asked as he raced to the door with Charlotte in his arms.

"In the parlor. Could not reach her, could not breathe."

The conscription in Darcy's lungs now had little to do with the decrease in oxygen. Once outside, Darcy sat Charlotte down and raced back inside.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" he called. Darcy's eyes blinked constantly, and he panted. The smoke made it feel as if a cap had been placed on his lungs. _Dear God, let her be alive_, he screamed within. _He_ could barely breathe; he knew Elizabeth could not have much longer. Darcy raced to the parlor door, his lungs feeling as if they would burst. As he entered, the fire crackled and hissed, and the heat from the flames seared his skin. The back wall that the parlor shared with Collins' study was on fire and beginning to spread farther inward, the wood furniture served as perfect kindling for the greedy flame.

As Darcy felt his way forward, something flaming and hissing fell onto Darcy's shoulder, setting his jacket on fire. Darcy fell to his knees and wrestled out of his jacket, his shirt charred, and his shoulder now burned. But so desperate was he to find Elizabeth that he felt no pain. Darcy crawled; he still could not see, but he could breathe a bit better from the ground. Darcy was disoriented in the darkness, so he felt his way forward. But the room was large, and Darcy despaired of finding her in time. His chest was tight, and he was filled with the worst kind of dread, for even on the ground, he was nearly out of air. He had to find her before his oxygen was depleted. The darkness that now flooded his being had nothing to do with the smoke.

Darcy searched frantically around him. He touched a table, hot from the licking flames, now a chair. He knew he was now in the vicinity of the sofa where Elizabeth surely lay. He felt the arm of the sofa. Darcy's heartbeat elevated, and he rose to his knees and felt eagerly around the sofa; however, Darcy's heart plummeted just as quickly as he realized that the sofa was empty. She could be anywhere in the parlor, or perhaps even in another part of the house altogether. Cold chills ran up his spine, despite the heat. He could not have been in the parlor for much more than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime.

Just when Darcy's lungs felt as if they would burst, he touched an arm. _Dear God, Elizabeth!_ Darcy pulled her to him. She was limp, and Darcy's heart felt as if it had stopped. _Dear God, please let her be alive! Dear God, please let her be alive! _Darcy lifted her and placed her over his unsinged shoulder like one would carry a child. He struggled to his feet, the lack of air making it twice as hard to lift Elizabeth than it had been to lift Charlotte who was taller and at least a stone and a half heavier. Darcy used the arm that had been burned to feel his way forward. Just as Darcy thought his eyes and lungs could not bear another moment, he reached the opening to the corridor. Assured that it was relatively free from obstacles, Darcy raced to the door just as he heard shattering glass and a portion of the parlor ceiling falling.

When Darcy emerged outside, Colonel Fitzwilliam shouted orders as the men formed the bucket brigade, fed the fire engine, and manned the pumped. Darcy raced to get Elizabeth to clean air. As he exited, Charlotte, who had been staring with her hand pressed to her mouth since Darcy had entered, fell to her knees in relief, then just as quickly rose again and ran after him.

"Is she alive," Charlotte asked.

"Yes, she is breathing."

"Thank God," Charlotte breathed. As they neared a place with thick trees and clean air Darcy sat and cradled a limp Elizabeth in his arms.

"Wake up, my darling," he pleaded, heedless of Charlotte's presence. Elizabeth's skin was bluish, and her breathing was shallow. "No! No! Darling, you must breathe." Darcy's chest rose and fell rapidly as his own lungs gasped for the fresh air, and as the panic for Elizabeth threatened to choke him and finish what the smoke had begun. With harsh breathing and trembling hands, Darcy smoothed the plastered hair from Elizabeth's face. Her skin was hot, and he lifted wild, desperate eyes to Charlotte, who held her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. Suddenly, Darcy remembered something he was told that the doctor had done for him when he was a lad and had been rescued from the partially frozen lake that Wickham had pushed him onto. Darcy leaned forward and breathed into Elizabeth's mouth. "Breathe, darling," Darcy said and breathed into her mouth again and again. Finally, after what seemed to be the longest wait in hell, Elizabeth gasped and lifted in his arms and coughed until it shook her body.

"Oh, thank God," Darcy breathed through the tears that fell unhindered down his cheeks. Darcy held Elizabeth with her head cradled on his shoulder and rubbing her back until her coughing subsided and Elizabeth sagged against him again.

"She needs water and medical care," Darcy said as he rose. "I will take her to Rosings. Send Collins for the doctor if he has not already arrived. I will send a carriage back for you."

Strong, efficient Charlotte, who had fallen to her knees weeping when Elizabeth had begun to cough, rose and raced to her task as Darcy raced to Midnight and rode as fast as he could to Rosings.

Darcy raced up Rosings' portico with his precious cargo. The door was flung open by the anxious butler.

"Peters, have the housekeeper prepare a room, immediately!" Darcy said.

"What is that noise, Peters?" Lady Catherine's strident voice invaded the corridor. "Has Collins come to attend me? This is most vexing," Lady Catherine huffed and bellowed from the drawing room.

Darcy winced at his aunt's grating voice. Peters walked to the drawing room door. "It is Mr. Darcy, ma'am."

"My nephew? Have him attend me at once!"

"Ma'am, he is carrying Miss Bennet and requesting chambers be readied."

Lady Catherine blew up like a blowfish and lurched from her chair. "Carrying Miss Bennet! What is the meaning of this!" She screeched as she marched to the corridor. "Impertinent girl, I will not allow this! Darcy! I insist you explain yourself! Attend me now!"

The entire house had been aroused with the news of the fire. Anne had defied her mother's orders to remain in her chambers and had come to the drawing room instead. She sat wrapped in too many blankets, the only way to appease her mother into allowing her to remain. Lady Catherine shook with fury, and Anne glanced at her companion, then she rose and followed her mother from the room.

Darcy blew out a harsh breath and walked to the study and laid Elizabeth on the sofa. Suddenly, he staggered. Since the immediate panic had subsided, there was no barrier to constrain his pain, and the misery came roaring, like floodwater escaping the dam. Darcy gripped the wall, and closed his eyes, struggling to breathe. His shoulder throbbed and his burns were excruciating – and he was weary, so weary he felt as if he stood on paper legs.

"Where is she? Impertinent girl. I will not stand for this!" Lady Catherine scowled and pounded her walking stick into the floor as she walked heavily into the corridor.

Darcy winced as he straightened his shoulders as best he could and met his aunt in the corridor. Lady Catherine halted, her eyes bulged, and she gasped. Darcy's coat was gone, his hair was disheveled, and there was soot upon his face. His shirt was torn and charred, and the burn injuries on his shoulder and forearm were red and menacing.

"Darcy! Explain yourself! Surely you did not run into a burning house to rescue that chit!" Lady Catherine bellowed through her frown.

"Aunt Catherine, my actions are not under your purview. Please have a room prepared for Miss Bennet; she is injured and in need of immediate care." Darcy's voice was hard, and his face set like granite.

"I will do nothing of the sort! Can you not see that she is only trying to trap you by leaping into your arms in a fire! She surely set it herself for just such an occasion! I will not allow that lowborn strumpet under my roof!"

"Aunt Catherine! Miss Elizabeth is a victim of a fire and is now unconscious and in need of a doctor! I will not trade words with you! Have a room PREPARED!"

"Or what, Nephew? I will not be moved on this! I am the mistress of Rosings, and that unscrupulous chit will not usurp my daughter's place! Now, take her to a vacant tenant's cottage."

Darcy had had about as much as he could bear. He was so weary it required nearly all his strength just to stand, his shoulder burned as if it were still being licked by that hissing flame, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and his lungs felt as if they were being scratched by porcupine needles.

Darcy turned his head and closed his eyes momentarily. Then he faced his aunt, his countenance fierce and his voice cold as a glacier. "Very well, aunt. But if Miss Elizabeth goes, so shall I, and this will be my last visit to Rosings. I will cut all ties, and you will tend to your own affairs."

Lady Catherine gasped. "You would not dare," she pulled herself to her full height and looked at Darcy with narrowed eyes.

Darcy stared at his aunt, his eyes as hard as flint, then he turned on his heels and marched into the study to collect Elizabeth calling behind him, "Peters, have the carriage readied."

"Wait!" a soft voice called, and Darcy halted and turned. His cousin Anne stood small and delicate, her eyes darting between Darcy and her mother. Lady Catherine swiveled and scowled at the sound of her daughter's voice.

Anne inhaled a deep, shaky breath and then spoke to the butler with a tremulous voice, "Peters, have Mrs. Bingham prepare a guest room, immediately."

The old butler bowed and turned to scurry away. "Peters! Halt! You will do no such thing!" Peters froze.

"How dare you, girl!" Lady Catherine turned on her daughter. "How dare you disobey my order! I am your mother and the mistress of Rosings! Can you not see I am securing your future?"

Anne took a step back as if the force of her mother's voice had pushed her. She twisted her hands and looked at Darcy. He seemed to sag from weariness, and his face was pinched from pain. Anne breathed deeply, squared her shoulders and spoke a little louder, "No, Mother, I am the mistress of Rosings."

Lady Catherine's jaw dropped, and she turned as white as chalk. Anne continued, "Miss Elizabeth needs care, and I will not turn her away." Lady Catherine stood still, breathing hard and staring at Anne with a thunderous expression.

Peters looked back and forth between the two ladies, his eyes large, and his body tense. "Very well," Lady Catherine hmphed. "She may have a room in the servant's quarters."

Darcy stiffened and opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, Anne spoke. "She will have a room in the guest wing, Mother. I will not insult a gentleman's daughter in such a way."

"Do not defy me, girl!" Lady Catherine bellowed, and Anne jumped, her eyes wide. "Mrs. Jenkins, escort Anne to her room. She is overwrought from the excitement of the night."

Anne took a step to follow her mother's orders as she had always done, but then she looked up at Darcy standing bravely though he clearly would have liked to collapse. Anne stopped and shook her head. "No, Mother." Lady Catherine's eyes bulged, and her nostrils flared, and she looked as if she might now turn a shade of purple. Anne turned to Peters, her voice remained tremulous when she spoke, but speak she did. "Peters, I am indeed the mistress of Rosings since I reached the age of five and twenty. Do as I bid."

Peters remained still, looking between the two women. "Move!" Darcy thundered, and Peters jumped to his task.

Lady Catherine stared at Darcy's retreating back, then she turned to Anne and stared at her with narrowed her eyes before she swiveled, hmphed, and marched to her chambers. When Lady Catherine departed, Anne sagged against the wall, panting, until Mrs. Jenkins put her arms around Anne's shoulders and lead Anne back into the drawing room.

A**/N: To all the guest reviewers, thank you for the encouragement. Unfortunately, I can only respond to reviews from those who have signed it.**

**A reviewer mentioned the lack of separation in the POV's. For anyone else who was bothered by it, I am new to publishing on this site. The original spacing was removed after I published, and I have not mastered editing on this site yet. **

**Finally, to the guest reviewer, "Lily," thank you for a LOL moment, as my quirky brain conjured up an implausible kitchen fire that has Charlotte dragging all of Lady C's recommendations into the flames while others attempt to put out the fire! **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Darcy placed the cool cloth on Elizabeth's forehead and sat in the chair he had pulled so close to the sofa that his knees touched the cushions. His eyes roved over her. Though she still had not awakened, Elizabeth's skin had returned to a rosy hue, and her breathing was not as shallow.

"Mr. Darcy, sir." Darcy looked up at the footman. "The room has been readied." Darcy nodded crisply, then he took a deep breath, marshaled all his energy, and stood. Darcy resembled a pugilist who had engaged in a battle with an opponent who was bigger, faster, and stronger. He leaned forward to lift Elizabeth and winced.

"Sir," the footman called, "with your permission, I could carry the Miss to her chambers, or I could summon Samuels, sir."

Darcy looked at the footman. He was tall and well proportioned. Then Darcy thought of his valet, Samuels, who was only ten years older than Darcy himself. Both men were strong and certainly capable of carrying Elizabeth, who was small and light. However, there was absolutely no way Darcy was going to allow another man to cradle Elizabeth in his arms while he watched. It was not going to happen. "That will not be necessary. Which room has been prepared?"

After receiving the room information, Darcy lifted Elizabeth and hissed. Though he cradled her on his unsinged right shoulder, he had to use his burned left forearm to place beneath her legs, and it hurt like hell.

Darcy plodded up the stairs. He had not been so weary since the time influenza had nearly killed him with a raging fever and the inability to eat. However, this was not the only cause for Darcy's heavy tread up the stairs. No, what really caused Darcy's feet to feel as if they were wrapped in lead was that this, this cradling Elizabeth, this feeling her body against his, her breath on his cheek, this little touch, was the only time he would be so close to the woman he loved before she was wrenched away, just like the dream. Darcy inhaled sharply and wanted to fall to his knees and scream, also like the dream.

Darcy laid Elizabeth down slowly on the bed, and froze for just one moment, his body leaning over her, this was the stuff of his dreams, though not the circumstance. Darcy lingered a moment. He may never see her again after this ordeal. She would move on, smile, laugh, love another, and one day, he would be just a mist, one of those elusive memories, difficult to recall or to retain, that slip away like water in a cupped hand. And that knowledge, that pain, was more difficult to bear than running into the burning house had been; it threatened to steal his breath more than that pernicious, relentless smoke, and made him more miserable than that hissing flamed that licked his flesh and crinkled his skin. Darcy pulled back slowly, disconnecting his arms from her body, severing the connection.

He turned away and closed his eyes tightly as the maid tended to Elizabeth. Darcy staggered, and as he neared the door, the world went momentarily black. Darcy stumbled and fell hard into the doorframe with his unsinged shoulder.

...

Charlotte and Dr. Yeardley stepped from Darcy's carriage and was ushered into Rosings by the butler back at his post. Lady Catherine had returned to the drawing room after her fit of pique. Incapable of staying away from her command post, she had marched in with her head held high. Anne had watched her mother with wide, blinking eyes as Lady Catherine sat stiffly and spoke only to Mrs. Jenkins. As Lady Catherine refused to look in Anne's direction, Anne dropped her head and wrapped herself in the blankets that had lain upon the sofa.

"Dr. Yeardley and Mrs. Collins to see Miss Bennet, ma'am," the butler said.

"Dr. Yeardley? I know no Yeardley. Where is Burton? This is most irregular," Lady Catherine scowled and pursed her lips.

Dr. Yeardley spoke. "Lady Catherine, a pleasure," he bowed crisply, eager to see his patients. "I am Dr. Reginald Yeardley. Burton, who I had stopped by to visit on my way back to my practice in town, was my apprentice and was unable to come as he was tending another patient."

"Hmph, how do I know you are who you say you are? I am sure you are good enough for the likes of Miss Bennet, but my nephew is another matter."

Yeardley removed a card that bore his name and practice. When Lady Catherine viewed the prestigious street where Yeardley lived, she looked him up and down, then spoke, "Very well. You will tend my nephew first, of course, then you may tend Mrs. Collins and then Miss Bennet," she said with her eyes locked upon him.

Yeardley, the third son of a wealthy gentleman, had inherited a small fortune from a maternal uncle but chose the profession despite his wealth. He distinguished himself from his peers with his innovative and effective treatments. Tall and lean with a trim mustache striped with gray, he raised himself to his full height and answered Lady Catherine's directive. "I will see first whichever patient is in the direst need. Now," he turned to the butler, "lead on, man."

Lady Catherine sat with bulging eyes and harsh breathing. Anne looked wide-eyed at her mother, then she unwrapped herself from the mountain of blankets and rose.

Lady Catherine's head snapped toward her daughter, and her eyes narrowed. "Where are you going, girl?" she asked with a harsh voice.

"I am feeling fatigued. I shall retire, Mother."

Lady Catherine smirked. "Very well. Jenkins, attend to her."

Once Anne entered the corridor, she turned away from the direction of her chambers with a small shake of her head to her companion and instead followed Dr. Yeardley and Charlotte to Elizabeth's room.

...

When the newcomers entered the corridor, Darcy, who had been leaning against the wall cradling his injured right arm with his burned left one stood erect and bowed. Dr. Yeardley raised a brow as he assessed Darcy's injuries.

"I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley."

"Dr. Yeardley at your service. It seems you need medical attention, sir."

"I am well. Please see to Miss Bennet, who was found in the fire and who has been unconscious since." Yeardley assessed Darcy once more, entered Elizabeth's chambers and sent the maid for ice from the icehouse and sterile clothes, then he turned to the bed.

"Cousin, you must leave," Anne said to Darcy, who had entered behind Charlotte and the doctor. Darcy shook his head.

"I am staying," he said, his eyes trained on the doctor and Elizabeth.

"Cousin, be reasonable. Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman's daughter; you should not be here," she hissed.

Darcy looked down at Anne and scowled.

"Come, go to your chambers. I will send the doctor to tend you when he is finished here."

Darcy's chamber was in the family wing, too far. "No," Darcy shook his head.

Anne sighed, "Then go into the sitting room, and when the doctor is finished, we will alert you."

Darcy stared at Anne for a moment, then reason reasserted itself into his pain, smoke, drink, and fear infused brain, and he nodded crisply and staggered through the door. Once he left, Anne sent the footman to retrieve Darcy's valet.

...

Darcy sat on the sofa in the sitting room connected to Elizabeth's chamber, his eyes were heavy, but he was too uncomfortable to sleep and too concerned about Elizabeth to relax. As Darcy waited, Samuels entered having gone to the fire only to find it well tended, he had then rushed back to Rosings after having been informed that Darcy had been in the burning house. When he entered the sitting room, Darcy looked up at Samuels with such weary eyes, his shirt charred, his flesh burned, and Samuels nearly lost his decades of training by gasping. Instead, Samuels left for water for drinking and washing. When he returned, after Darcy had gulped down two glasses of water, Samuels wet the cloth and cleaned the soot from Darcy's face.

Less than an hour later, the doctor entered the sitting room, and Darcy stood. "Mr. Darcy. I will tend your wounds now."

"How is Miss Bennet?" Darcy asked quickly.

"She will be well. She is unconscious, I believe, from the bump on her head rather than from any effects from the fire. Whoever was responsible for bringing her out in so timely a manner has surely saved her life as well as saving her from undue complications from the smoke. Now, shall we proceed to your chambers, sir?"

Darcy hesitated, but eventually, he acquiesced. As Darcy sat in his sitting room with his shirt removed, Yeardley frowned. Darcy's forearm burn was minor, but his left shoulder burn was a bit worse, but they would heal with time and care. However, Yeardley also observed that Darcy's right shoulder had been dislocated.

Yeardley turned to Samuels. "The brandy," he said, indicating the brandy he had requested when he first entered Darcy's chambers. Samuels poured two fingers, and Darcy knocked it back and grimaced as it burned his throat. "Another," Yeardley said. When Darcy had finished that one, Yeardley ordered a third.

"How did you get this injury," Yeardley asked, indicating the dislocated shoulder.

"I was thrown from my horse long ago. Tonight, my shoulder encountered the door." Darcy said with a pinched voice as the doctor's administrations to his burned shoulder felt as if someone was peeling off his skin.

"There," the doctor finally finished. "This should help with the pain," the doctor said as he applied ice and wrapped the shoulder loosely with the ice pack. "Now, you know the routine?" Yeardley asked, nodding to Darcy's dislocated shoulder.

"I do," Darcy said abruptly.

By now, Darcy's eyes were red and shimmering, and Yeardley looked at him directly, "Are you ready," Yeardley asked, and Darcy nodded. Yeardley reached for Darcy's arm. Darcy winced when the doctor moved his arm into position and manipulated the shoulder back in place. When it was over, Darcy released his breath in a huff and slumped back into the chair. Yeardley fashioned a sling for Darcy's shoulder and instructed Samuels in the application of an ointment once the ice had melted.

"When the brandy wears off, give him laudanum for the pain. Make certain he rests for a few days and that no fever results. His burns are not particularly severe; however, I have found that the ones that are not as severe are often the most painful. I will stay in the county a few more days to check up him and Miss Bennet."

...

When Samuel's left for more supplies, Darcy staggered to the guest wing and stood swaying in front of Elizabeth's door. The three brandy's the doctor had ordered, along with the ones his broken heart had ordered, made Darcy more inebriated than he had ever been in his life. As he stood swaying in front of Elizabeth's door, Anne emerged from Elizabeth's room.

"Darcy, what are you doing here?"

"Must see E…, must see Lizbeth."

Anne shook her head, "No, Cousin. Come, let me call a footman to take you to your room."

"No," Darcy shook his head and then fell off balance, his back hitting the wall. "Must see Lizbeth,"

Anne huffed. She could not take him to his rooms, and she did not want to expose him to the footmen in this condition. She would take him to Elizabeth's sitting room until she could have Samuels summoned.

Darcy stumbled into the sitting room as Anne directed him and dropped into the chair. "Howz Lizbeth," he slurred his speech and his head flopped to the back of the chair.

"She is fine. The doctor believes…"

"Must see her." Darcy rose, staggered, then froze. He scowled and stretched his hands before him for balance. "Why is this room moving?" he yelled.

Anne leapt up and gently guided him back down. Darcy closed his eye for a moment, then he opened them again and blinked at Anne. "When did you get here, Cousin? You are like a b…butterfly," he laughed. "Light and delicate, flitting around with nary a sound,'' Darcy said in a sing song-voice, then his voice grew somber. "We would not suit. I am a brute." He folded his arms and pouted like a child being denied a sweetmeat. "Lizbeth says I am the last man in the world she could ever be pre…failed, prefailed upon to marry." Darcy's face crumbled, and his lips quivered. Ann gasped, a more forlorn look she had never seen.

Darcy continued to speak, "Shezz not, not a, a b…, not a butterfly. Shezzs lion. Always protecting. I, se, I se…parated Bingley from her siser, you know." Darcy managed to raise his head just enough to see Anne before it flopped back down. "I did." His head moved up and down in what she presumed was his attempt to shake it while his index finger hit several facial parts before landing on his upper lip and his nose, "Shh," he said. "Thought she did not love Bingley. But she did, Lizabeth said so. Shezzs so bea…, so beau…tiful not as beau…tiful as my Lizbeth, though. I said she was only tolerable. 'Twas Bingley. Hezz pest. You are b…butterfly, shezz lion," Darcy chuckled, "Bingleyzz pest," Darcy laughed loudly and nearly toppled over onto the floor. Anne jumped but settled back when he recovered. Darcy lifted his head and looked at her with one eye open. "What are you doing little b…butterfly?" Then his face crumbled again. "Shezz b…butterfly, too. Shezz light and soft, but so f, fierce. She hates me. What am I goi…ng to do?" His voice trembled. "I breathed for her."

Ann frowned, "You _breathed_ for her?" she asked.

Darcy's head bobbed up and down, "Yes. I did. I breathed for her." Then he frowned, "No! No!" Darcy shook his head wildly from right to left and raised his voice. "I _breath _for her," he said forcefully, emphasizing the present, the forever. "I love her so." Darcy's chin was now on his chest, and his voice trailed. "She crushed my heart, like paper. What shall I do? I breathe for her." Darcy said again, his voice faded, and his chest began to rise and fall as he took the breaths of deep sleep.

Ann looked on with a frozen expression. Then she exhaled loudly, "Oh, dear," she said.

In the corridor, Lady Catherine listened. The thick doors initially hindered her ability to hear more than muffled sound; however, when Darcy raised his voice, Lady Catherine gasped and turned red. Then she clenched her jaw and stalked away. Meanwhile, Samuels, who stood in the shadows at the opposite end of the corridor, watched.


End file.
